


Identify My Devil

by VigilanteFlower



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Amnesia, Amputee Armitage Hux, Big Bang Challenge, Eventual Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Senator Kylo Ren, Smuggler Armitage Hux, mechanic hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 05:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20633588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilanteFlower/pseuds/VigilanteFlower
Summary: Mitt hadn’t been able to find his place in the galaxy since he woke up with nothing but half a name, half a leg, and a whole head full of nothing. Working as a mechanic for a group of smugglers, he gets by just fine, but when a bounty hunter snags him for a Chandrillan Senator, he can't help but wonder if Senator Ren might have the answers he's been looking for...Prompt courtesy of kylodarknessdementiaravenren for the Kylux Mini Bang 2019.





	Identify My Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first ever Mini or Big Bang submission! I haven't done something like this before, and so I took it on as a challenge for myself. I have to say, it changed a lot throughout the process, and boy did I learn a lot. I'm so proud of myself for having gotten all the way through this and I really enjoyed it from start to finish. I want to thank my wonderful prompt writer and collaborative artist for being so engaging and creative. I absolutely adore the pieces she made for this fic and hope you'll all enjoy what we've created together! You can find her at https://kylodarknessdementiaravenren.tumblr.com/ and myself @Arden_Hux on twitter. Enjoy! :)

Mitt hadn’t been able to find his place in the galaxy since he woke up with nothing but half a name, half a leg, and a whole head full of nothing. He couldn’t tell if the bits he knew were real, or when they happened. Faces, names, places, none of it made much sense, but mostly it was just black. Great expanses of his mind empty of what he knew should be there. 

It was the roughest at first, when he panicked so badly at the unfamiliarity that he’d thrown himself out of the medbay bed, and promptly crumpled to the floor. The trauma all sort of mixed together, so he couldn’t tell what was worse, realizing he didn’t know who he was, or that he didn’t have a leg he was _ sure _ had been there before. 

Samir was the first one he’d met on the Corvidae, a Tellar woman with bright pink skin who was both second in command and the medical officer on board. She’d told him how they’d found him; unconscious near the corpse of a wild sahlmac, just as they’d been coming back from a drop off. However, her kind hearted attempt at an understatement had not gone over well, and he’d immediately demanded more information. 

The crew fussed about how much they wanted to share with him right away, but eventually they gave him the gory details, and they were exactly that. Apparently, he’d broken four ribs and needed thirty-six stitches in his head. His leg was so badly crushed in the mouth of the sahlmac, that they’d been unable to save it once they’d broken the dead beasts jaw to set him free. They commended him though, because the vibroblade lodged in its head was enough to tell them who had won. Mitt had put up a good fight and made it out alive, even if the casualties of his mind and body were high. 

The crew couldn’t tell him how he got there, though. As far as his brain was concerned, he’d been birthed in the snow laden woods of Chandrila that day. All they’d been able to give him was half a dog tag they’d found, with the letters “Armita” pressed into it. He didn’t like the sound of that, finding the name too close to “armpit”, and so the crew helped him whittle it down to Mitt. 

It turned out that by the time he’d woken up properly from recovery, more than a month had passed. At least that had given the crew enough time to put together a good prosthetic for him, though it took some getting used to. Samir told him he’d been in and out of a lucid state for a while, but he couldn’t remember any of those conscious moments. But that barely concerned him when compared to the roughly thirty or so years he was clearly missing, just from guessing his own age in the mirror. 

Unfortunately, despite Mitt’s demands, going back to Chandrila wasn’t immediately possible. The Corvidae was in the middle of a job in the Outer Rim, and Captain Mercali had vetoed abandoning it just to return him to what might not even be his planet. 

He’d hated her at first, for forcing him to stay on the ship and tag along on their job, but as the details became known to him, he reluctantly understood. It was a risky, but important haul, and the consequences for not completing it could be dire for more than just those on board. He’d also been forced to accept that not only was he still physically unfit to pursue his search for an identity, he had next to nothing to go on.

It wasn’t long after that, that he started to go absolutely stir crazy. Enough griping to Samir had at least gotten him permission to hobble around the ship, rather than wasting away in the medbay. It took a few trips before he had the stamina to make it all the way to the hanger, where they stored all their vehicles. 

It wasn’t a huge ship, but they had enough room for a few interesting speeders and a couple converted transports. He was pretty sure they’d either stolen them, or bought them from junk traders and just given them a repaint. Trouble was, the Corvidae didn’t have a dedicated mechanic, and so some of the rigs idled in disrepair until they could make port and find someone to fix them. Lucky for them, Mitt had more than enough time and interest in the old machines.

It felt so intuitive, and as disconcerting as it was to find that he seemed to know their inner workings better than himself, it was soothing. It grounded him when he needed stability and self-worth, but more than anything, it gave him something to do. 

Things carried on like that for a while, with Mitt spending his days in the hanger rather than the medbay, as the crew worked on completing their big contract. The gravlifts he’d altered even ended up being essential to their success, and when everything was said and done, the adrenaline high of it all had Mitt reconsidering his desire to find who he’d once been. 

Captain Mercali, a stern but kind woman, with a face younger than her years and an experienced wit that made that clear, had immediately told the crew to set course for Chandrila after their return. But, before anyone could reach their posts, Mitt stopped them.

Up to that point, his time on the Corvidae had been spent wondering where in the galaxy he fit in. But when he’d been clapped on the back, congratulated, given his own little room off the side of the hanger...It made him think that maybe he could fit in just fine here. Better the home he’d come to know, than the one he couldn’t even name. At least, that’s what he’d told himself, but beneath it all, was the fear that he would never find the place he belonged.

As time passed, he felt just as lost as when he’d first tried to stand from his coma. For the most part, he put himself back together, with a little help from Samir and some of the others. Sometimes, he found himself wallowing in the fact that his initial hope of fitting in didn’t seem to be filling the hollow inside of him. There were still decades of his life missing, and the more time that passed, the more he wondered if he’d ever fill the gaping maw of his past. Who had he been? A hunter scouting for prey? A martyr sacrificed to the wilds? If nothing else, his identity was a devil that taunted him with its silence.

He did get little snippets of memories, now and then. Small things, like sitting at a grand table, legs still too short to touch the ground, and grey light filtering in through a rain covered window. Or being shoved into a chest by older boys as they laughed, and the ensuing fear and rage as they locked it. There was also one where he remembered looking at a datapad just as a scream split the air. 

They weren’t all bad though, he’d found a bitter tea in the ship’s kitchen one day, and of all the memories he’d collected, it had given him his favourite. Someone kissing the back of his neck, a gesture made while he drank the tea he could now remember loving. It gave him something nice to think about when he had trouble sleeping some nights.

Eventually, Mitt started getting a cut of the earnings from their jobs, which wasn’t actually something he asked for. The Captain had simply come by his cabin one day and tossed him a coin purse full of credits. He’d been so absorbed in fixing and improving their rigs, that with all his needs covered, credits hadn’t crossed his mind much. So, he worked harder, and kept getting to know the people around him, which meant they got to know him too. It was an odd thought, because Mitt wasn’t sure how much of his personality was new, and how much was left over from his previous life. 

Everyone knew not to mess with him though, or more importantly, his things. The hanger had once been a neutral zone, with people tramping through, vaguely poking at the speeders now and then. But, after Mitt took it over, if anyone so much as pushed a bolt on his work bench out of place, they were in for it. Organization was the only way he felt truly in control of his life, and therefore disruptions were met with overt hostility. Samir teased him for being the cleanest mechanic she’d ever seen, but he threatened not to touch her speeder ever again if she kept criticizing his methods. 

It was a simple premise, but he liked it: If his space was well structured, then maybe his brain would follow suit. 

As more jobs came in, and Mitt’s skills became invaluable to the Corvidae’s success, he developed a pride in his work that helped ground him further. Captain Mercali gave him free reign and authority over all the vehicles and the demands of their respective drivers, which Samir said had him looking like a puffed porg strutting imperially around the ship. After that, nobody wanted the scorching earful he’d give them if they returned with a speeder speckled with blaster fire. Mitt felt that if he was going to feel lost, at least he had something small to command.

Strict rules in the hanger aside, the crew liked him, and the feeling was surprisingly mutual. Maybe it was just because they were the only people he knew, but a head full of nothing didn’t take away his understanding of camaraderie. They teased and prodded him, but it was always good natured, and they had developed a respect for him that he appreciated. It made him feel useful and needed, despite his daydreaming about being somewhere else, where they knew him on a level he no longer understood.

***

It was about ten months into his time on the Corvidae when a job they took required the ship to head back into the central system. Nakadia was their destination; a beautifully lush planet, rich in agricultural resources. Flying in to port took them over colourful fields and patterned crops. They hadn’t spent much time in places like this before, and Mitt found himself excited by the idea of being somewhere so new. Maybe it would jog some more memories. 

“Hey Mitt!” 

His curious mind was brought back from daydreams of memories yet to be found by the sound of Samir’s voice calling to him. 

“Cap’n says she wants you to take a look at the hull while we’re out gettin’ paid. Gallia heard something hit the side. Scared the shit out of him.” There was a grin on her dusty pink lips as she jerked a thumb towards the side of the ship. Mitt sighed lightly, though he was amused by the thought, and straightened from where he’d been hunched over some wrenches, cleaning them. 

“He’d better not be overreacting again. I’m not going hunting for a new panel just to quell his paranoia.”

He finished wiping a wrench and placed it in its proper place as Samir hopped onto the table next to him and peered out the port beside them.

“Wow, pretty place, ain’t it?”

“Yes, it makes me wonder if I’ve ever seen it before.” His attention stayed on the collection of tools, making sure they were all securely set in place. It meant he didn’t have to see the look Samir gave him, that sad little one she always got when he brought up his identity. He hated the pity in it. 

A hand squeezed at his shoulder and he finally looked up at her when she got off the table.

“C’mon, lets get your kit together. I’ve got the feeling you’re going to be hammering things out for a while.” 

With a displeased huff and a resigned roll of his eyes, he let her diversion work and followed her out. Before leaving the hanger, he gave one more look to the horizon of rising buildings in the approaching capital. Maybe, just maybe, he would find some answers.

***

Samir had been right. His jacket hung from the corner of a large metal plate as he brought a dense mallet down against the inside of it. The planet was warm, and the people were as plentiful as the plants. 

He’d pulled half his copper locks back into a ponytail at his crown, and it was times like this he actually regretted the light beard he kept. It had a function though, a thick scar from his duel with the sahlmac scored the back of his head and jaw. It wasn’t a pretty thing, and was such a stark reminder of what had happened, that Mitt preferred to have at least some scruff to hide it.

Panting heavily, and with the tingle of sweat rolling down his spine, he tilted his head back for a breather. Looking out over the crowded docks was a visual treat. So many faces and races, a dozen languages within earshot, all bartering and desperately trying to get the attention of those with coin in their pocket. There were others like him though, keeping to their work and uninterested in wares for now. Maybe he’d go out with the crew when they got back though. It had been a good job, seemed pretty clean this time, so if all went well, they’d be paid and celebrating by suns down. 

For the second time that day, his daydreaming was interrupted by an unexpected voice.

“Need some help there?”

They were mostly covered in sandy cloth and a few colourful glass baubles, with a purple hue to their skin. But, more importantly, Mitt counted at least three blasters on them. Taking a moment to squint and process the potential threat of someone with that many weapons being unnecessarily helpful, he placed his hands on his thighs, elbows bowed out.

“No, I think I’m good. Anything I can help you with?” He attempted to keep his voice as smooth and free of suspicion as possible. The stranger gave a small shrug and light shake of their head as they looked up at the Corvidae.

“Just curious about the ship. She yours?” Dark gold, overly large irises shifted back to him as Mitt shook his head. 

“No, I just take care of her.” Mitt patted the side panel, causing a deep clang to ring out louder than intended. 

“Ah, you’re a mechanic then. What’s her name?” Mitt couldn’t tell so far if they were more interested in him or the ship. Both seemed in equal measure.

“The Corvidae. We take her all over if you’re interested in getting something somewhere, and have the credits to make it happen.” Maybe if he was lucky, they were looking to be the crews next benefactor.

Though the stranger’s face was partially covered by a blue fringed scarf, he could tell from the scrunch of their eyes that they were smiling. 

“I’m fine. Was just curious, seeing you out here, pounding away.” They kept their gaze distracted before returning it to Mitt’s again. Those excessively dense eyes were disconcerting when they gave all their attention to him. 

“What’s your name, by the way?”

Mitt’s intuition was strong, it had helped get the crew out a few minor situations, but it always left him curious about whether it was something he developed naturally, or learned. Right now, he didn’t like that he couldn’t get a proper read on this person. Were they simply filled with passing curiosity? Scouting for someone the crew owed money to? Or maybe flirting with him? Every possibility sounded strange.

“...Mitt. You?”

“Tak Bastra. But I should be heading on. Are you going to be in port for long?”

“At least the night. Not sure after that. Why?”

“Just wondering if I might see you around.” They gave another casual shrug.

Maybe flirting wasn’t such a farfetched idea. 

“Maybe, we’ll have to see.” He gave a mild smile to accompany it, not sure if he was okay with what was happening here or not. 

Before he could really make any sense of the strangers intentions, a yip of excitement caught his attention. Almost before he saw her, Samir was clapping him on the shoulder and giving him an excited half hug.

“We got it! The job was actually clean, Mitt! No blasters in our faces! They paid up and even the bonus they promised! Forget the ship for now, we’re headed to the bar. C’mon!” 

It wasn’t until a minute into Samir’s excitement that Mitt remembered he’d been having a conversation before it, but when he looked up, there was only bustling crowd ahead of him. His brows twitched with concern as Samir whooped her way back to the others. 

Whatever that was, it seemed fairly harmless. Besides, with the sheer number of people in port, he didn’t expect they would actually run into each other again. Shaking his head and wiping his face down, he got back to working out the dent in the durasteele, despite Samir’s command not to do so. He wasn’t a man to leave work half done.

***

Mitt preferred subtle celebrations, which apparently looked more like a romantic evening for one, to Samir. He simply liked making himself a cup of tarine tea and reading engineering manuals. Texts that either taught him more about his work, or explored new ideas he hadn’t explored just yet. 

They had an old datapad on board that he’d plucked from the hands of Gallia on many occasions. Eventually, the large xeno had been kind enough to stamp Mitt’s name on the back of it. While mostly a joke, it had also been a gesture of good will. In Mitt’s early days amongst the crew, he’d not been the friendliest, and so he was thankful for their patience with him. 

His own gesture of good will was to start joining them for things like this. He’d chosen to step outside his comfort zone, to work at these friendships, and so he entered the cantina. Mitt didn’t have to stay long, and knew they wouldn’t make him, so he’d humour their excitement. 

“Mitt! Get over here!” Samir shouted, waving to him. He waved back as he took a seat, but in an attempt to get her to settle instead of rejoice.

“Calm down, I’m not some rare beast wandering into your line of sight.”

The Captain’s chuckle cut into their conversation.

“You might as well be. When was the last time you left that hanger?” Her tone was teasing as she leaned on the table, drink in hand, and pushed her dark, shoulder length hair behind her ear.

Mitt rolled his eyes, a little tired of the old hermit jokes they’d been harping on for ages.

“It’s not my fault you keep breaking things enough to keep me there.”

The captain grinned and gave Mitt’s good leg a light kick under the table. 

“Alright, that’s fair. But you should get your nose out of a gravcore more often. Now that we’re back in civilization, there’s a lot for you to learn.” She gave a pointed nod, not needing to elaborate on the implication. The crew tried not to point out his missing experiences, at least not directly.

Captain Mercali’s attention shifted back to some of the other crew as he ordered his own drink. Mitt had to admit, even though his nights were rough sometimes, he sure could have ended up with a far worse lot.

***

Mitt’s first attempt to leave was met with too many affectionate protests to be successful, but eventually he convinced them he was too tired to keep drinking, and headed out. It was a warm night, and from what he could tell of the surrounding nightlife, a busy one. His prosthetic made maneuvering through the overzealous crowds slow going, but thankfully, he wasn’t in a rush. Finally, he reached the docks, now a quiet tableau of the once rowdy markets.

“Hello again.”

Mitt’s shaggy red hair fanned across his forehead as he turned sharply towards the surprising purr. Catching a familiar set of thick golden eyes, a chill of unease raked its claws down his back. 

“What’re y-” Before he could get the words out, his head snapped back as the sharp, terrifying sensation of electricity ran from his gut, to his head. And all at once, the star mottled sky turned black... 

***

Waking up didn’t come easy. It took several tries, and felt unnervingly like his time in the medbay. It was similar enough, that when the comparison first landed in his vague consciousness, he nearly went into a full on panic. It wasn’t until he was able to run back through memories of the Corvidae that he managed to calm himself down.

Even if he had panicked, he wouldn’t have gotten very far. His wrists and ankles were bound to a somewhat comfortable slab beneath him. Straining his ankle, he managed to tap against a wall besides him, making a hollow clang. His best guess was that he was in a bunk on some ship, presumably one belonging to the person who’d kidnapped him. Great. What was that stranger’s name again? Tuck? Jak? Right, Tak. Tak Bastra, but only if they hadn’t given him a fake name. 

The sound of boots on metal snapped all of his senses back into alignment. 

“Stop pulling at the restraints, you’ll only bruise yourself.”

It was Tak again.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” He growled back, anger immediately blossoming from his frustration now that he knew they were near enough to hear him.

“Taking you in, of course.”

“What?” Mitt’s stomach felt like it had petrified and dropped through the bed beneath him. 

He’d been on the Corvidae for a short time, and while they’d gotten themselves into a few tight places, it had never gotten unreasonably intense. They were smart about the jobs they took, taking ones they were pretty sure would only land them a fine if something went wrong. Could they have made a mistake? Were they wanted people now? 

“Taking me in where? I haven’t done anything worth arresting me for!” 

A dismissive chuckle answered him, making his fists clench in their bindings.

“I’m not arresting you. I’m a _ bounty _ hunter, and _ you _ are worth a pretty bundle of credits _ .” _

He wanted to think that was impossible, but he had thirty or more years of his life he couldn’t answer for. The possibility of those years being filled with something worthy of a bounty was terrifyingly real. Mitt stayed quiet as he tried to process his past life finding him well before he’d even had the chance to go looking for it himself.

When he spoke next, it was stilted and emotionless. 

“What is the bounty for?”

“Don’t know.” 

He could practically hear their shrug, and the idea of such a nonchalant reaction being given to his potentially life altering question, was infuriating. 

“It just said there’s a nice big prize if you’re returned in one piece.” 

Not surprisingly, the fact they said ‘in one piece’, was a relief. 

“So no, there’s not going to be any torture. But I don’t know what they want you for, so I’m not taking any chances.”

He felt Tak pluck at the restraint around his wrist.

“Right…”

It was quiet for a long moment as he finally stopped struggling. His safety, for the moment, seemed assured.

“Returned to where?” He asked hesitantly, though she answered quite readily.

“Chandrilla. We’re meeting with someone who’s going to verify your identity, and then you’re out of my hands.” 

Mitt jolted, the restraints nearly forgotten in loo of his urgent need to demand details.

“Who do you think I am?” It’s out of his mouth before he can think better of it, and the moment he does, his stomach recoils into knots so tight he thinks he might be sick. Is this it? Is he finally going to find out?

“Who- what?” They sound understandably incredulous.

“I asked who you think I am.”

“You don’t know?” They scoff, and the laugh is too amused, even cruel sounding. 

His jaw tightens, teeth grinding against each other as he attempts not to spit something back that might make them reconsider the lack of torture.

“You’re kidding me. You ran away, didn’t you? You deserted the First Order and now they want you back to punish you or something. With the way you look, no wonder no one could find you.”

Mitt hadn’t lived under a small enough rock not to know what the First Order was. They were the military of the first class, in a general sense. They worked for the wealthiest of the galaxy, and established extensive bases on planets with a plethora of resources, whether the locals cooperated or not. It was well known that the young and parentless, or even just the poorest, became part of the Stormtrooper legions. Several of the Corvidae’s vehicles were repurposed First Order transports. They’d been his favourite to work on. 

“Was I...a trooper?” He asked with uncertainty. This time, Tak outright laughed.

“What? Are you actually serious? Do you _ really _ not remember who you are?”

Mitt was silent, he couldn’t muster up a retort, and he felt ashamed to admit it with his lack of response.

“Well shit,” they breathed out in surprise, “you really have no idea, huh? Where do I even...For starters, you’re General Armitage Hux of the First Order. You’ve been missing for maybe just under a year and someone on Chandrilla wants you back. They haven’t put their name out there though. Just a contact for a liaison droid.” 

He wished they’d stopped after the first sentence, because everything seemed to get lost after that. His name. He finally, _ finally _, had his name. And beyond that, a title. One that Mitt was sure hadn’t come easily, and made him think it really had been a devil taunting him all this time. A general of the First Order was not a person that anyone trifled with.

As he laid there, Tak’s words fading from his attention, he could hear it in his head. An older man speaking his first name harshly, berating him, and then the memory of a hard hit and the inside of a dark room beneath soft blankets. He could hear a deep, creamy baritone right against his ear, saying the last syllable. And finally, the word General repeated in his mind in a thousand detached voices, with no faces to claim them. 

***

Blind was never something a person wanted to be when being lead into an unknown situation, but Mitt didn’t have a choice in the matter. Tak had bagged him, pulled him off their ship, and lead him into what he could only assume was a Chandrillan city. He was getting annoyed by all the tugging and prodding as they made their way through, which was a sentiment he was quick to share with his captor. As expected, Tak couldn’t care less.

Eventually, they stopped, a heavy door closed behind them, and Mitt was unceremoniously shoved into a plush chair. At least comfortable seating boded well and was strongly preferred to being strapped flat for hours. With his ears keen, he tried to get a sense of things, but there was little more than the sounds of city streets to educate him. 

A moment later, a door opened in front of him, and a few sets of feet shuffled in. There was a masculine and metallic scoff, a tone common to droids. His irritation spiked at the sound.

“What have you brought me? This man has _ one leg _.” The dismissive jab made Mitt want to snarl back against the judgement, but he didn’t know what he was dealing with. Maybe the sack over his head wasn’t such a bad thing if it meant his anger was hidden.

“Yeah, and the rest of him is General Hux.” Tak shot back, quite simply having none of it.

“The General did not have pieces missing.” A self-assured chuckle followed, and was accompanied by two others, a bit quieter and further away. 

Did this mean he wasn’t who the hunter had told him he was? A pit started to form in his stomach. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to be right or wrong. What would happen in each scenario? Would they kill him and hide his body if he wasn’t this Armitage Hux person? And if he was, who wanted him? Who was paying for this? Would he be killed if he _ was _ the General? What had lead to him being lost on the Corvidae?

Suddenly, the bag was yanked from his head and his eyes were temporarily blinded by the stark light of the Chandrillian suns. 

The chuckles stopped. 

A bronze droid stood primly before him, with a humanoid form well proportioned for his model. Behind him stood two guards, their white helmets unmistakably those of Stormtroopers. All of them were staring at him, silent and shocked. Slowly, the droid stepped forward, and without asking, grabbed his face.

“Hey!” Mitt shouted, trying to twist away from the cold touch, but it was too enthralled, and he was too tied up.

“Yes,” the droid muttered, looking him over carefully as Mitt wriggled and jerked, “yes, it’s the General. A mess he is, but there’s no fooling my databanks.”

The uncertainty of what he wanted continued to swell inside of him, filling his gut with a mild panic as he realized he was getting answers faster than he was prepared to. Excitement was what he’d anticipated, not a frantic scrambling for stability inside himself. 

He’d gotten an answer, then. He was General Armitage Hux of the First Order. But what did that mean for Mitt, mechanic of the Corvidae?

“Get off me.” He snapped, kicking out with his good leg at the droid’s shins. With a disgruntled shout the droid stumbled back, but one of the guards caught him before he tumbled. A huff of indignation proceeded something about as close to a glare as Mitt could imagine a droid making. 

“Do you not-” Before the droid could chastise him, Tak cut in sharply.

“He doesn’t remember who he is, so don’t expect a kind reception if that’s what you were hoping for.”

“_ What?” _ The droid yelped, “He doesn’t _ remember?” _

“Yeah, not a clue. He thinks his name’s-”

“I can speak for myself, you know. I’m an amnesiac, not an idiot.” The look Tak gave him was scathing, but they didn’t continue. Mitt returned his attention to the frazzled droid in front of him. 

“My memories go as far as ending up on a strange ship last year.” 

He quickly decided giving a name to said ship could be a bad idea. He didn’t want to unintentionally sick a legion of troopers on the crew. 

“The crew helped me back to health and all I had was a partial dog tag to go off of. So you will call me Mitt until I’m convinced I’m this General you all keep talking about.”

With his stern demand, things fell quiet again, and for a moment, Mitt thought they all looked more convinced of him than they already were. In truth, Mitt hadn’t really been intending to make that particular demand until it was out of his mouth. A not so small part of him was scared. Scared that they were wrong, and that he would cling to this new found identity only to discover a mistake had been made. He needed to protect himself, physically and emotionally.

The droid righted itself and answered haughtily, “Fine. I’m sure that won’t take long.” 

***

Though the manacles were gone, he felt no less trapped. He was being watched like a hawk by the droid and his troopers, but the fact was, there could be answers for him here. At first he’d thought of sneaking off back to Nakadia in case this all went sour, but now that he’d had a little time to calm down, he didn’t think that was going to happen. He’d spent all that time trying to settle into the Corvidae and wondering if there were people missing him somewhere. Maybe this was that place.

Mitt had been carted off before Tak was paid, and tucked into a transport. It wasn’t long before they pulled up to what could only be described as a palace. It was grandly gilded and Mitt couldn’t understand why anyone would need so many rooms in a single dwelling, but he supposed his experiences with the rich were limited to back alley agreements. 

They settled in a beautiful lounge, a stunning view of the city scape stretching before them. A balcony spanned the whole length of the room, and an ornately trimmed couch was settled beneath the awning, with tufts of luxurious, plush pillows peeking out over the top. Mitt frowned as the weight of familiarity started to set in. 

“The Senator will be with you shortly, Mr. _ Mitt.” _

His attention snapped back to the droid with immediate frustration as the feeling of familiarity slipped away with aggravating ease. Mitt’s teeth ground together, his lips pursed. The droid had introduced himself as QE-3, but it hadn’t jogged anything for Mitt. The couch was the closest he’d gotten so far.

“Senator who? Who’s paying for me?”

“Senator Kylo Ren of Chandrilla. You were a prominent confidant of his before you disappeared. But perhaps I should let him tell you about that.” 

Mitt’s jaw clenched tightly as his nerves spiked at the thought of having been close to a senator, of all people, especially considering where he’d ended up. Not that the crew were entirely broke, or criminal, but they were nothing near extravagant or lily white either. Mitt’s bed was in a simple nook in the hanger of the Corvidae, and he had the feeling this Senator Ren had never slept in anything smaller than an emperors bed. But apparently, they’d been close, so maybe Mitt had been that way at one point too. 

It was a strange thing to consider, the person he might have been, now that he had some idea of the places he’d inhabited before his accident. When he’d fantasized about it, Mitt had sometimes amused himself with the idea of being some kind of celebrity, but it was always because he’d thought that was ridiculous. As it turned out, he may have simply been thinking about the wrong _ type _ of celebrity. 

Trying to ease his roiling nerves, Mitt’s eyes swung back towards the intriguing couch, wondering if he could regain the thread of memory he could sense was just out of reach. However, his concentration was thwarted by the hiss of the hydraulic door. 

When Mitt’s eyes met Ren’s, he wasn’t sure what happened. It felt oddly like panic, but not in a fight or flight way, and from the look on the Senator’s face, he might be going through something similar. Ren also became extremely pale, or maybe that’s just how he always looked. Black robes cascaded down from his shoulders and hugged his throat with a delicate shimmer of silver dusting his shoulders. It was a look that spoke of the stars and certainly supported his stature and intensity. The more Mitt looked at him, the faster his heart raced, and the more he begged his brain to remember this striking man.

“General.” Came the tight reply, and that voice was all Mitt needed. He’d heard it in his head before, recently, when the bounty hunter had told him his old name. The air felt thick around him, hard to take in, as the memory filled out just a bit more. He could feel that long dark hair tickling his neck, and those broad lips against his ear as they said his name. Mitt’s throat felt like it was about to close up. He needed to keep himself composed, to stay the stronger man in this situation, or else he could be squashed.

“Not right now.” He croaked, then quickly cleared his throat, “I’m afraid I don’t know who General Hux is anymore. I haven’t known for the last year.”

He’d thought Ren was pale and stiff a moment ago, but that assessment fell short against the way his hackles rose, those dark eyes taking on a horrified burn. The thick waves of his hair slipped forward and obscured his face as he snarled back like a frightened dog.

“_ What are you saying?” _

It was a tone that would cower any reasonable person, but for some reason, Mitt found himself rising against the aggression, asserting himself as he stood from his seat. The squeak of his leg brought the Senator’s attention to it and Mitt didn’t miss the way his knuckles turned white from the strain of his clenched fists.

“I’ve been flying with a crew in the outer rim, and was kidnapped from Nikadia before I was told I’m apparently General Hux of the First Order. I don’t know who that man is, but here I am anyway. So, if you wouldn’t mind getting it out of the way, what do you plan to do with me if I am, or if I’m not?”

Mitt was startled by the sudden voice of QE-3, having completely forgotten he was in the room. 

“Well, for a man who doesn’t remember himself, you certainly sound like-”

“_ Out!” _Ren had, without a doubt, the most commanding voice Mitt had ever heard. It was marred only by his excessive emotions and the clear quiver of his furious mouth.

“Yes, Senator.” The droid meekly ducked his head and darted for the door, leaving Mitt alone with his unstable master. 

A quiet formed between them, Mitt’s gaze caught tightly in a tenuous balance with Ren’s, before the Senator took several broad strides directly into his personal space. With a startled breath, Mitt tried to step back from the fast approach, but forgetting the seat behind him, his knees almost buckled. It meant he had nowhere to go, and so Ren was upon him with little trouble.

This close, Mitt could see all the freckles dotting his face, the dimple beneath his lips, and the dark droop of his brows above the broad and slightly crooked bridge of his nose. The strangely intense pounding of his heart returned again as Ren’s hands came up to either side of Mitt’s face, not touching him, but hovering. It was as if the Senator were scared of bridging the gap between their skin. Mitt didn’t know what to do other than stay as still as possible, watching Ren’s eyes dart around his features. Finally, the silence was broken by a surprising whisper. 

“I thought...you were dead.”

The shock and fear evident in that simple statement communicated far more than the relatively stoic expression on Ren’s face. Ren had believed he was gone, and he’d wanted to be wrong. With a shaky exhale that Mitt knew Ren would feel, he gave his own quiet response.

“What happened to me?”

Ren’s hands shook, and Mitt wasn’t sure if it was from the strain of holding himself back, or the shock of finally finding the man he’d thought dead. Taking a deep breath, his eyes set somewhere in the middle of Mitt’s face, Ren finally stepped back. His hands disappeared behind his back, and Mitt suspected they were clenched as tightly as Ren’s jaw seemed to be. Mitt felt like he could finally relax a little.

“It was here, on Chandrilla. We were in the northern lands on our way to a summit meeting,” Ren had chosen to speak to the floor, rather than Mitt himself, “when a herd of starved sahlmacs smelled our camp.” His brows knitted themselves together, as if he were struggling to map it all out. 

“They attacked us in our sleep, and I was…” Mitt could almost hear his teeth grinding against each other, though it didn’t appear to be because of anger this time, more so disappointment, “not prepared. Before I realized what was happening, you were fighting one off of me, but it got you by the leg and dragged you out into the snow.” Ren’s words finished on a growl as he finally took a seat. He rubbed at his face briefly before putting his weight onto his knees, hands clasped together. 

Mitt only felt confusion over the recounting of that day, but he said nothing yet. Ren didn’t seem done and he wasn’t looking to interrupt this particular tale. He’d been wanting to hear it since he’d demanded it from Samir that day on the Corvidae.

“I tried to follow you, but the snow was too thick...I got lost.” Ren’s tone had changed. It was tired, regretful, and Mitt felt himself ache along with him. “It was hours before we found...before we found,” Ren slowly sat back up as his eyes flicked to Mitt’s leg, “remnants...of you.”

It was a lot to take in. Apparently, Ren was important enough to Mitt that he’d risked his life for him, and in a way, he had indeed given that up for him. If the snippet of memory he’d caught was any indication, Mitt shouldn’t be surprised that he might have fought a beast off of Ren. 

Mitt’s eyes dropped to the subtle quiver of Ren’s hands as he tried desperately to conjure a response to all this. It still felt like he was being told a story about someone else, and since he was in fact the man he wanted to be sympathetic to Ren for losing, Mitt was drawing a blank. Thankfully, Ren didn’t wait for him to say something first. 

“You really don’t remember any of it? Your life here?”

Mitt shook his head with a sigh, shaggy red hair brushing his shoulders as he brought a hand up to cover his eyes and pinch his temples. 

“Almost none of it. Just weird bits, here and there. More like sounds or short scenes. They don’t always have context.” Despite the sudden nature of all this, Mitt found himself feeling surprisingly calm now, the adrenaline rush of their reunion finally becoming manageable. 

Ren’s eyes quickly cast themselves downward, looking like his thoughts were a thousand miles away .

“Perhaps that’s...good.”

“What?” Mitt asked immediately, his expression tightening into incredulity. 

“Maybe it’s good.” He repeated, looking squarely at Mitt this time.

“You gave your life for me, and now you have the chance to start over, away from all the politics and pretending.” Ren stood up suddenly, and Mitt almost did the same. He could still see the Senator’s hands shaking at his sides.

“You can have a ship. You can go wherever you want. I know you’re alive, that will be enough for me.” 

For some reason, Mitt didn’t think it was. Maybe it was the way his voice roughened as he said it, but regardless of Ren’s apparent generosity, Mitt found the idea of leaving far from desirable. There were more answers for him here. He’d been given a taste of satisfaction after a year of hoping for any small morsel, and he didn’t want to be without it so soon. 

“No, I need to know who I was before all that. I’m not just leaving because _ you _ say it’s a good idea.” He threw his hand up, gesturing to the stern man in his flowing clothes. 

Ren hesitated, but something in him softened. 

“Are you sure? The more memories you regain…” He trailed off, and Mitt wasn’t able to figure out what he was trying to imply.

“I’m sure.” 

After he said it, he realized there was a small problem. If he stayed, he would potentially miss the chance to get back to Nakadia and catch the Corvidae. He supposed that was assuming they would leave without him, and he really wasn’t sure if they would or not. 

While his expression remained adamant, his thoughts were conflicted. A small home had been made for him on that old ship, even if he felt out of place in it sometimes. But there were answers here, and he wanted them, wanted to know where he lived, who he’d liked, what he’d done, even if he was no longer the General Hux that Ren wanted him to be.

***

Mitt wasn’t sure how he felt about the big, plush bed in front of him. It was a simple but subtly detailed silver frame with dense black sheets and pale blue pillows, each with complementary designs. In fact, the whole room followed a very cohesive aesthetic that felt oddly chilling. 

Mitt’s corner of the Corvidae had been small and not without its flaws. The bed was hard but he’d gotten used to it, and the blankets sometimes weren’t quite enough to keep out all the cold of the hanger. But that was remedied by wearing his favourite coat to bed. This was so different, it was hard to wrap his head around a time when he would have chosen this for himself.

“This was your room before your disappearance.” The droid said, having taken him here when Ren was called away by someone he assumed was an assistant. It had been a reluctant departure, if Ren’s hesitance was anything to go on. But the droid was fine with directions, and that’s all he really needed right now. 

“This isn’t...what I expected.” 

“Well, you were a very particular man, Mr. Mitt.”

“Was I? Hmm,” Mitt’s eyes travelled over an ice blue couch and silver writing desk, then the balcony that spanned his room. It was just like the one outside the lounge earlier, except the colour pallet matched his new quarters. He’d indeed been particular like that, it seemed.

This one caught his attention even more than the last. It felt like the curve of the frame and navy suede of the upholstery begged him closer. There was a rug in front of it, and as Mitt stared down from the side, his body seemed to slink down onto the rug as if he were a moth to the brightest flame. He felt as if translucent memories had woven their threads through his limbs and were puppeting him towards their manifestation. 

Finally, the tugging stopped, and he was seated on the ground with both elbows up on the edge of the seat. His head tilted back and let his hands dangle, with his eyes closed, as the sound of the wind tickled his ears. 

_ He could remember faint music reaching them from the lower floors of the palace, and the heat of his cheeks from drink. Someone was rubbing his temples as they throbbed dully. His head wasn’t on the seat, it was propped up by a bare shin against the back of his neck. He couldn’t remember what was said, just the knowledge that a voice of hot caramel dripped delicious words into his mouth, before a warm tongue replaced them. _

“..tt. Mr. Mitt?” Came the concerned voice of QE-3.

Mitt’s eyes slowly opened, his brain having recovered all it could for now. He didn’t respond, the whole thing sitting too heavily in his chest. After another, more panicked prompt from QE-3, he spoke up.

“This...who shared this room with me?” It was a weighty question, his voice sounding far away.

“Um, no one...You never took a life partner, if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

“Then who spent the most time here with me?”

“Well, that would be Senator Ren. You two often spent hours debating the next actions of the senate and the Chandrillan military here.”

Mitt mulled that over for a long moment, sliding his tongue along his teeth and nodding to the sky above them. Too many things were making more sense than he’d expected, and with each passing moment, his relationship with Ren became clearer and clearer.

“I’m sure we did…”

***

Despite his earlier aversion to the bed, actually laying in it had been divine. But in the morning? His back and shoulders ached like he’d been riding a bantha for a week. It would take a while to get used to, and he really wasn’t sure how long he’d be here. He’d fallen asleep still anxiously running back and forth between his decisions, but hoped this might be it, a place where he could find himself. 

Not long after he woke up, QE-3 arrived to take him to breakfast. Mitt hadn’t given any thought to this part of his...visit. The place was a palace and there were certain social protocols he now realized he might be expected to follow. The trouble was, he couldn’t remember any of them.

Thankfully, the nervousness subsided when QE-3 lead him through a door that revealed only Ren, seated at a small table, with a modest array of food in front of him. The Senator's attention had been on a datapad, but it immediately snapped up when Mitt entered. Ren’s expression was a mix of confusion and distaste that had Mitt frowning as he walked across the room.

“What?”

Ren shook his head, seeming to pull himself out of whatever space his head had been in.

“I just thought for some reason you’d come in looking like your old self. The beard is...QE-3 can take you to get cleaned up after breakfast. You can keep the beard, if you want, but you’ve probably been wearing the same clothes for a week.” The datapad was placed aside and Ren started putting fruits and cheeses onto his plate. Mitt got the sense Ren didn’t want to look at him.

“Are you suggesting I _ smell?” _Mitt snipped, taking the only other seat at the table. The spread in front of him was mostly of things he’d never tried on the Corvidae. He didn’t know where to start, and so chose to copy Ren’s plate for himself.

“You stink.” Ren didn’t miss a beat.

Mitt’s brows shot up, surprised by the blunt response. When he didn’t answer back, Ren’s dark eyes finally met his and there was a sudden touch of regret there, before he returned to collecting bread from a basket. 

“I...we don’t have the same rapport as before. I’ll...need to be careful of that.”

A curious frown took over Mitt’s lips as he considered the other man. He couldn’t help but go over the memories he’d collected so far, of Ren’s mouth against his ear, of the kiss on the balcony, none of which he’d brought up to him yet. Then there was the shuddering intensity of Ren’s hands around his face, as if he’d wanted nothing more than to touch the man who was now a stranger to him, but couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Then there was the fact Mitt’s room had been kept perfectly intact, and that Ren had offered a steep reward for his safe return. 

“What _ was _ our rapport like?”

That was clearly the question that Ren had been nervous of him asking, because he stiffened like a thief about to be caught in a treasury. Ren’s eyes shifted around his plate, though his fingers didn’t, frozen in their place, poised above a plump red berry.

“It was fine, we worked together.” The berry was quickly popped into his mouth while Mitt’s frown deepened.

“That doesn’t make sense to me.” He stated, his bottom lip pressing up against the top as he shook his head. It was a particular gesture he’d adopted from Captain Mercali that generally meant: I don’t buy that for a second.

“You thought I was dead and you sent bounty hunters looking for me, but we were just amicable coworkers. You realize how ridiculous you sound, right?”

Ren’s lip twitched, the hint of a snarl there with his eyes still trained on the food he’d stopped touching. Mitt wasn’t feeling patient enough for this. He’d spent a year wanting answers to these questions and he wasn’t going to put up with a stupid man’s pride, or whatever it was, stopping him from getting answers. 

“_ Ren.” _ Mitt’s tone was demanding, but he hadn’t expected it to bring such an intense look from the man across from him. Ren’s jaw was tight, his eyes smouldering with...Mitt couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe that hadn’t been the best move. Ren had just been saying their rapport wasn’t very good, and he was still a _ Senator. _Mitt quickly cleared his throat, recomposing himself and sitting a little straighter.

“Senator,” he corrected, but before he could even continue, Ren’s hand was up, enforcing pause. 

“Don’t call me that. Just Ren…”

Mitt got the sense he’d stumbled into something he hadn’t meant to, and so he conceded.

“Ren,” he repeated, carefully this time, “tell me what we were like.”

Ren’s face scrunched and twitched and frowned, too many things flying across his features for Mitt to really get a sense of what he was feeling. It all culminated in a sharp shove against the table and Ren suddenly on his feet, walking away from the table. Mitt wasn’t worried he was leaving, it just seemed like he needed space. When they’d met the day before, Mitt had been immediately aware of how much Ren filled a room with his presence. It made sense that it was too much for even Ren himself sometimes.

With a growl that was partially a sigh and a hand pressed to his face, Ren turned his back to him.

“I don’t...want you to remember. Not all of it.”

“You have no right to make that decision, nor any control over what my brain chooses to piece back together, so just _ tell me!” _ Mitt’s hand landed with a smack against the table, and while his first instinct was to think that Ren was being unreasonably dramatic, a quick swallow punctuated the thought that maybe he was too.

Ren spun around sharply, eyes tight with a mild fury bubbling just beyond the surface. Mitt levelled the same look in return, not interested in playing this wasteful game of back and forth.

Finally, Ren straightened and let his cloak close around him as his expression settled into something considerably more blank than Mitt had seen so far this morning.

“We worked together before I even became senator. We didn’t...get along. I’ve never met a man with so much _ spite, _ and I thought you were about as loyal as a starved rancor.”

“Why do I get the impression you weren’t much fun either?”

Ren’s lip twitched, and Mitt felt a small burst of triumph. That was something light and positive, for a change.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Of course you aren’t. I don’t think introspection is your strong suit.”

“You said you wanted me to tell you things, and now you’re heckling me?”

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” Mitt picked up a piece of buttered bread and began munching on it.

Ren sighed, eyes rolling, but rather than proper aggravation, his reaction was tinted by amusement. 

“We got along, eventually. Once we stopped acting like only one of us could win in all this.” He looked up to the ceiling briefly, taking a deep breath, “It took...some _ things _ changing, before that though.”

“Stop being so vague. I’m not a child, Ren. Just say what you mean.”

With a light growl, and another sharp look, Ren continued.

“Fine, we fucked.”

Mitt drew in a breath that pulled the bread towards the back of his throat and made him collapse into a coughing fit. 

“I didn’t- okay.” Mitt gave another cough as he leaned over the small table and tried desperately to pretend he _ wasn’t _ blushing a blotchy red. Yes, he’d expected some reveal that they were intimate, but he hadn’t been expecting it with _ that _ response.

“Umm, well, I-I’m not..._ surprised _ exactly, I just didn’t-”

“Why aren’t you surprised?” Ren cut in, though the hesitation in Mitt’s words invited it.

“Well,” his rusty brows were high on his forehead as he stared into the cheese bowl, “a memory resurfaced last night and I was pretty sure it was you kissing me.” He raised a hand, palm up, as if the gesture indicated how obvious it was.

“So you already knew and you’ve been sitting there making me tell you?” Ren’s voice was edged with annoyance.

“No, it-it was just kissing, I didn’t know about the-the fucking.” He felt his face darken, and the gesturing hand immediately clasped his forehead, shielding his face from view.

“Oh…” This time, Ren sounded at least a fraction embarrassed.

The silence went on, but eventually Ren tentatively reclaimed his seat at the table and bit into a berry.

“...So which one was it?” Ren asked softly, as Mitt’s hand took it’s time returning to the table.

“We were on the balcony in my room, and I think we were drunk. You were messaging my aching head in your lap, and then you kissed me, simple as that.” Mitt’s eyes finally moved up, stuttering along the way, to meet Ren’s. Softness wasn’t a thing Mitt had been able to identify in Ren’s expressions before, but there was a bit of it there now. 

“Oh, that one.” He paused, picking at his fruit with a fond little tilt to his lips, “That was...a good night.”

“Really?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mitt could feel the blood rising to his cheeks again.

“Yeah, it’s a bit strange talking to you about it like you weren’t there, though.” Ren’s eyes squinted slightly, before they settled again. Mitt felt a wash of guilt over his chest, but rather than answer, he chose to drink some of the juice that had been left for them.

They both collapsed back into silence, finally paying more attention to their food than each other. It wasn’t until both of their plates were nearly empty, that Mitt spoke again. 

“You said you didn’t want me to remember all of it. Why?” 

He decided not to shy away from this one, and didn’t want Ren to try to either. Ren didn’t look eager to address the question, but didn’t take as long to give in this time. Leaning back with a sigh, he stared at his plate before meeting Mitt’s adamant gaze.

“You probably saved my life when you disappeared. And as it turns out,” he brought a palm up and pointed towards Mitt’s head, “you did, in a way, give up your life for me. That’s...” 

It echoed Mitt’s thoughts from the day before, and he could practically see the walls rising around Ren again. The relaxed but nervous nature of their conversation was being seized by whatever thread had snagged within Ren’s mind.

“I’m...not interested in having anyone do something like that again. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and don’t need people protecting me like that. You’ve gotten lucky, you don’t remember why you did it, so it will be easy for you to move on after you’ve had your fill here.” 

Ren didn’t give him the eye contact expected of someone who sounded so firm. And if he had, he would have seen the spark of frustration light up behind Mitt’s eyes. He was not interested in Ren’s attempt to shove him away, not when he’d barely had a day to start piecing his past life together. 

“Don’t you have guards? People whose literal job it is to do exactly that?” 

Ren stiffened, in that bodily way where everything from his jaw to his fingers clenched. 

“I wouldn’t have them if the Senate didn’t demand it.” His tone was even more direct than before, and commanded an end to the conversation. Mitt, however, had no intention of complying. 

“So you would cast me out already, after spending all that money on me, just to avoid the same thing happening? What was your plan then? Why did you even bother looking for me?” Mitt’s hurried aggravation wasn’t quiet. Each question rose in volume as his hand gestured out toward the city beyond the palace walls.

Ren’s hands landed with a hard smack on the table as he stood up again, rage flickering across his face. Mitt didn’t even flinch, holding his ground. His glare did more than he’d expected, because Ren’s flaring nostrils and jittering gaze weren’t immediately preceded by an explanation.

“Did you even have a plan? Did you just throw credits out in the galaxy and decide to figure it out when you found me?”

_ “Yes!” _ Ren shouted, and it made Mitt jump slightly with the power of it. 

“I couldn’t make a _ fucking _ plan, because I couldn’t deal with planning your _ fucking _funeral, Hux.”

It was Mitt’s turn to grip the side of the table and bite his tongue. He could see Ren’s chest rising and falling with the strain of his words, and somehow, it felt cruel to correct his choice of name.

Slowly, they both released their grip on the table, and Ren sat back down. It felt like their entire time together could be characterized by a ship narrowly avoiding disaster in an asteroid field. 

Ren’s demeanour was more closed off than it had been, and Mitt wasn’t feeling much better himself, but he was determined not to let Ren’s attempts to push him away, stop him from getting what he wanted.

“So, you really thought I was dead?”

Ren sighed heavily, his food going untouched.

“Not exactly, I had the beast that attacked you taken back here and gutted. You weren’t in it. And we found tracks leading away from the scene to signs of a ship, but it was gone by the time we got there.” Ren gave a shrug and looked at Mitt, the gesture a mockery of simplicity, “So I put out a living bounty on you and just...waited. Hoped whoever took you wasn’t an enemy of ours.” 

Mitt felt a chill of realization tickle his forearms. He needed to process too many things already, and now there was the unexpected realization that if the crew hadn’t found him, he might have been rescued by Ren, and never become Mitt at all. It was a terrifying thought, that there was such a fine line between ending up General Hux with muddled memories, or being Mitt, Mechanic of the Corvidae. All he knew was himself, and the memories that kept darting in and out of his head like hungry birds at a feeder. 

Was he an imposter? Or was he reborn? Despite all the time he’d spent wanting to know what happened, wanting to know where he belonged, there were too many ways to view it and none of them were realities Mitt was ready to face.

“I’m sorry,” it came out even softer than Mitt had meant it to, his heart squeezing tightly in his chest, “that you went through that.”

The way Ren’s bottom lip pressed up against his top, and the subtle gloss of his eyes, was very unexpected, but Mitt didn’t know what else he could say.

“It wasn’t...your fault, Mitt.” The pain in it was so densely layered that Mitt felt the weight of it too. 

The use of his new name, the fact that physically, it _ had _ been his fault...There was too much to unpack, too much still begging for his attention. 

“Let’s just...finish breakfast.” His voice was kind, and though Ren didn’t answer, and simply went back to eating, Mitt felt he appreciated the out.

Mitt felt an uneasy weight in his chest as Ren said goodbye and headed off to take care of his duties. He’d gone into that room with a lot of questions, and had left more confused than ever. They’d been lovers, long time lovers from the sounds of it, and now Ren wasn’t sure he wanted him back after a year of searching for him. Mitt’s...Hux’s room had barely been touched, which suggested Ren had every intention of welcoming him back into his life, maybe until he’d discovered Mitt’s identity was now a part of his former lover. 

What was that like? A year spent pining, hoping, fearing, and to think for a moment that you have it all, but with a fatal flaw. Mitt thought maybe he could sympathize, having spent just as long hoping he might come across some clue to where he’d come from. How was Ren actually handling it? Mitt wasn’t sure it was well. 

***

Mitt’s days were mostly spent exploring Chandrilla and the palace, usually with QE-3 giving him guided tours. It wasn’t as fruitful as he’d hoped, with only a few spots of familiarity rather than whole memories regained. He found himself more aggravated than he would have liked, because he wanted more progress than he was getting. 

He wasn’t seeing Ren as much as he would have liked either. The Senator clearly knew General Hux better than anyone, and yet Mitt could barely get a moment alone with him. QE-3 explained that he was an incredibly busy man, but still, Mitt was feeling rather neglected. Perhaps his expectations were too high, thinking that coming ‘home’ would mean an endless supply of answers. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. It did make him wonder, though, if Ren was avoiding him. A lot had come out over breakfast that day, and Mitt couldn’t help but consider the possibility that Ren was scared of getting close to him again.

The reveals of that meal had taken time to set in, and they came back to mind as Mitt retired to his balcony, alone, and nestled comfortably into the plethora of pillows. His hands glided over the velvets and silks, his thoughts wandering over what Ren had told him. So, they had slept together, that was _ very _ clear, but while Ren hadn’t clarified if there was anything beyond the physical between them, the declaration of his inability to accept his death was more than enough. It made Mitt’s heart race to think that they’d been together, but then came the uncomfortable fact that Ren might know his body better than himself. That was a weird one to consider.

Mitt dropped his head onto the back of the couch, blue-green eyes staring up into the Chandrillan skies as he tried desperately to process it all. 

“So, I really landed myself a senator, huh?” He whispered, needing to say it out loud for himself. 

“Landed a what, Mr. Mitt?”

Mitt nearly jumped out of his skin, a pillow toppling to the balcony floor as he clutched the armrest and stared wide eyed at QE-3.

“Oh, sorry for frightening you, Mr. Mitt. Senator Ren has sent me to invite you to some festivities this evening.”

“And you couldn’t _ knock _ before telling me?” He lowered himself gingerly into his seat again.

“I did, but you weren’t listening.” QE-3 sounded both offended and chastising in a way that made Mitt’s patience wane. 

“As I was saying, the Senator will be hosting an event tonight, welcoming some delegates to the city. He has asked if you would attend?” 

“Uh,” Mitt looked down at himself, and realized that despite Ren’s comment about his smell and appearance, he hadn’t shave, nor adopted the styles he’d more commonly seen about the city.

“I’m...not sure that’s a good idea.” He swept a hand downward, gesturing to his whole self.

“Oh nonsense. You have several hours to prepare and I’m here to assist you. Now get up, there’s plenty of work to do.”

***

He hadn’t been very keen on letting QE-3 shave his beard, trim his hair, or shine his prosthetic, but the droid went full tilt through it all in a whirlwind of ignored protest. Within a few hours, Mitt was standing in front of a full length mirror staring at himself like it was someone else looking back. And in a way, it was. 

“There, you look just like your old self.” QE-3 sounded so proud of himself, his bronze hands clasped neatly in front of him.

“Yeah…” 

Mitt didn’t think his face had ever been cleanly shaven, and frankly, it was jarring seeing the scar he’d had hidden beneath his beard all this time. His hand rubbed over the puckered skin, and tilted his head from side to side, getting a look at the sharp jawline he’d forgotten all about. And had he always had cheekbones like that? Apparently his shaggy hair had been covering them too. Admittedly, he looked good, more handsome, and certainly better suited to Chandrilla now. He felt like he should like it less, because it was so different from how he usually looked, but it struck a pleased chord within him. 

As his fingertips moved across his jaw, eyes following their journey, the flicker of a memory caught his minds eye.

_ A hand, bigger than his own, slid over his jaw, cupping it. The feeling of lips traced their tracks. Then there was a whisper against his ear as he realized this memory didn’t have him in front of a mirror, but in a bed instead. _

_ “Love you, I-I love you, Hux…” It was breathy, stuttered, and made every hair on his body stand on end. _

Mitt’s eyes widened and his cheeks turned red as he put together the very obvious context of such a memory. It was Ren, that he knew for certain. They’d had something strong between them, and as Mitt let his hand fall from his face, his heart ached for what they’d lost. 

In the many hours he’d spent alone since he’d come to the realization of their relationship, Mitt had come to the conclusion that even if his memories didn’t fully return, he wanted to get to know the person he’d once loved. And as his chest grew tighter at the thought, Mitt wondered if they might regain that connection some day. He’d felt like something was missing for so long, he couldn’t help but consider the possibility that it was a person, rather than a place, that he’d been searching for.

***

Why did this have to be what Ren finally invited him to? He’d gotten so swept up in QE-3’s primping that he’d been distracted from the fact it was a party built around politics. The dozens of guests from all different planets, dressed in their finest, was certainly a sight to behold. He was accustomed to standing in crowds full of strangers, but the luxury of this was something else entirely. 

Mitt had been told they couldn’t cross the ballroom earlier that day, and now he could see why. It was extravagantly arrayed with paintings and banquet tables. There was a band playing in the front, and there were acrobats dressed to match the delicate golden flowers decorating the room. The air was alight with music and chatter, which paired well with the scent of delicious delicacies tickling the nose. 

Mitt had needed so much grooming that they were arriving late, which accomplished his goal of missing the formalities. He had no idea what he was supposed to do here, and it was yet another time he wished he could just remember his former life. He was sure Hux would know how to behave. Hux probably walked around these types of things like he owned the place. Though, now that he thought of it, being Ren’s secret lover and a general of the First Order may have meant he sort of did. 

That realization suddenly had him looking at the room in a new light. Somehow, amongst all the revelations so far, Mitt had yet to really consider the fact that this had been his _ home. _ He had a bedroom, a lover, a job, a place in this society that now felt so foreign to him. As he gathered more snippets of his life, it felt like this place was slowly becoming a part of him again, and that thrilled him.

With his eyes cast upward, exploring the ornately carved ceiling, he didn’t quite notice the familiar man approaching him from behind. But when a hand landed on his shoulder, he didn’t jump, just slowly turned his head as his mind caught up to what he was seeing. Ren looked down at him, a mild smile on his lips and a touch of sadness in his eyes. 

He was wearing a drop necked vest this time, with another high collar. It seemed far less modest than the cloak from their reunion. It had long, loose white sleeves that accentuated his broad shoulders, before dropping down to tightly encircle his forearms. The mahogany of the vest went perfectly with the gold bands around his wrists and throat, but most importantly, it matched the warmth of his chocolate coloured eyes and deep black hair. 

While Mitt had not gone this whole adventure without noticing the striking beauty and handsome strength of the Senator, it hadn’t quite left him speechless until now.

“I actually recognized you this time.” Ren’s voice was low, and he leaned well into Mitt’s personal space. Mitt heard a small sniff. 

“And you don’t smell like the inside of a mechanics boot anymore.” 

Mitt frowned and shoved the hand off his shoulder. 

“I did not.” 

“Oh yes, you very much did.” Ren didn’t seem at all put off by Mitt’s attempt to stand in defence of himself. 

The light glare continued until Ren stuck out his hand, a tall glass of something with swirls of silver and lavender filling it. 

“Here, have a drink. I’ve had plenty of it already, so you should take this one.”

Mitt accepted it as his eyes scanned the other man’s features for a moment. There was a slight glassiness to his eyes and his posture was far more relaxed than usual. It irritated Mitt, knowing that after wanting to talk to him for days, he was only getting to when the man was drunk.

“You avoid me all week, and then you invite me to some big party?” Mitt asked as he took a drink of the delicious liquid. It was dense and rich and didn’t taste like anything he’d had on his travels with the Corvidae. Ren frowned and looked out across the sea of chattering guests, rather than letting Mitt’s burning stare meet his own.

“I...had a lot to think about. It’s not easy seeing you and knowing you don’t remember any of this.”

Mitt felt a pinch of guilt in his chest. He’d been huffing irritably on his own, and had forgotten how concerned he’d been when they’d last properly parted. 

“I thought you didn’t want me to remember anything else.” It came out more bitter than he meant it to.

Ren tensed, and Mitt wondered if he’d always been this bad at comforting people. Instead, he seemed to have an incredible knack for irritating a situation.

“That’s...I don’t know. I don’t know…”

Mitt sighed, sounding bothered, and hoped Ren didn’t notice it was more aimed at himself than at the young Senator. He didn’t want another argument, especially not in the middle of a party like this.

“Forget it for now. Are you having a good time?” Mitt looked out over the crowd, and Ren’s gaze joined him.

“It’s my job. This has never been my favourite part of it.” 

Mitt found that strange. If the glamour and parties weren’t what Ren liked about his position, then he certainly dressed to suggest otherwise. 

“Then what is?”

Ren turned to him slowly, his eyes heavy and thoughtful as he glanced at Mitt’s face, and then the glass in his hand. 

“Do you want me to be honest about that?”

Mitt’s heartbeat picked up as he saw a flicker of hunger in Ren’s eyes for the first time. That look, paired with the question of honesty, made for an irresistible concoction of curiosity.

“Of course.”

“I liked always having an excuse to disappear with you. I don’t get a moments peace sometimes, but I would just tell everyone I had a meeting with you about whatever I wanted, and they’d leave us alone.” 

Mitt remembered QE-3 telling him early on that Ren would stay in his room for hours discussing political actions and military tactics. Mitt hadn’t been convinced it was just that after his memory on the balcony, and he supposed now was the time for additional clarity.

“We didn’t just talk about troops and policies, did we?”

Ren’s eyes dipped down away from his own and that lush bottom lip pressed up in an attempt to hide his grin. It did things to Mitt that he hadn’t expected.

“No, not always, but we did talk about those things, mm,” He tilted his head in a small, considering shrug, “some of the time.” 

Before Mitt could respond, a man staggered into him hard enough that Mitt stumbled forward. Mitt almost spilled his glass all over Ren as his other hand caught himself on the Senator’s chest. Ren’s hands came up to his biceps, immediately steadying him. It was the first time they’d touched and Mitt’s already fluttering heart kicked itself into a frenzy when he instinctively looked up. Ren was too close, his stupidly warm eyes bearing down on him, and those ridiculously wide lips parted both too much and too little to be acceptable. 

It hit him then, another memory of their time together. This one was much more sudden and vibrant than any of his past revelations. 

_ He could feel a warm breeze crossing his skin, just barely shifting his carefully styled hair out of place. Ren was before him, a sour look on his face. Mitt was fairly sure he was nearly shouting at him, though he wasn’t sure what about. Things got louder, but the memory still muffled them. Ren was in his face, expression contorted into rage, and then Mitt shoved him. The look of shock on Ren’s face was priceless, and Mitt could feel himself grinning, but then Ren’s expression reformed into something thoroughly determined. _

_ Hands snatched up his lapels and before he could process a plan of defence, Ren’s lips were aggressively pressed against his own. It didn’t stop there, and within moments there were tongues and teeth and hands desperately tugging at clothes that were far too complicated for this. The wash of hot relief and desire poured over him with the grace of a- _

“I’m sorry, lad.” Came the slurred voice of the man that had run into him. His hand clapped down on Mitt’s shoulder and pulled all of his attention away from everything that was spiralling through his head. Mitt couldn’t shake the daze right away and simply nodded at the rosy cheeked man. Ren was still so close, and now all Mitt could think about was where else those strong hands had been. Mitt righted himself, putting at least a few inches between them.

“Are you okay?” Ren asked cautiously, leaning down just enough to get a look at his face. Mitt couldn’t bare to meet his concerned gaze.

“Yeah, uh, maybe we should...get out of the crowd.” Mitt suggested hesitantly, suddenly feeling like there were too many people here for him to handle at the same time as Ren’s all encompassing presence. 

“Good idea.” Ren answered quickly, and then his hand was on Mitt’s wrist, tugging him into motion. 

As they made their way through the crowd, Mitt having no clue where they were going, Ren’s hand slowly slid down over his knuckles, until it twisted into his own, grasping it lightly. Mitt wished he was a bit drunker, so that maybe he could blame the heat in his cheeks on that. Slinging back the entire remainder of the glass Ren had given him, he barely managed to land it on a servants tray as Ren’s wide gate kept him at a double pace.

Finally, they stepped out onto a balcony and Mitt couldn’t help but think how full of them the place was. With his hand still held in Ren’s, he was drawn to the railing, where Ren let out a long sigh. All his attention seemed to be on the view before them, but as Mitt moved to the railing alongside him, he saw that the other man’s eyes were closed.

“Much better.” Another sigh followed, and his eyes opened as he leaned down on the wide ledge of the banister, their hands still clasped. “I don’t like being trapped in there.”

“Is that why this place has so many balconies?”

“Yes. I always wanted a place to escape to, without having to fully leave. It’s convenient, and...you used to come with me a lot. They’re like little hideaways from it all.”

Mitt couldn’t help but notice Ren’s inability to stop bringing up their past together, or the mildly uncoordinated way his hand waved through the air as if peppering the balconies along an invisible miniature of the building they stood in. While he’d been speaking, Ren’s thumb had started to move back and forth over Mitt’s knuckles, a sensation he was very aware of.

Mitt’s heart was racing. Why did he have to forget Ren? The man was entrancing in a strangely frustrating way, and Mitt was having difficulty not just letting the memory of their heated kiss consume him. It was lingering, tightening his chest, and narrowing his focus down to what-ifs. 

He only realized he’d been staring for far too long when Ren turned to look at him. Mitt’s eyes may have been directed down to the city below, but every ounce of his attention was raptly set upon the way Ren’s whole body turned to him. 

Mitt’s jaw clenched as Ren’s hand came up, the thick fingertips running along the contour of his scar. It was warm, but made him shiver imperceptibly. 

“This suits you.” It was soft, yet sure, much like the press of his fingers when they moved beneath Mitt’s chin and guided their gazes to each other. 

Mitt didn’t expect the pain he saw there. He’d thought maybe hunger, or perhaps confidence but instead, Ren’s expression ached with a longing that Mitt could barely fathom.

“...I missed you..._ so _ much.” 

Mitt can feel the weight of it in his chest, of the last year Ren had spent hoping he’d return. Mitt wasn’t a perfect solution, the best he could do was try to remember, but the more time that passed, the more confused he felt about the separation of who he was then, and who he was now. 

It was too much to process in the few seconds of silence between them, before Ren let go of his hand and slipped it around his waist. All thoughts of who he was promptly shifted to how intensely he wanted to feel the memories repeated. They’d been filling his head and he didn’t want them to just be glimpses of the past, he wanted his own moment, something with Ren that wasn’t just some shadow in his mind. He wanted his head to be filled with something that was his own for once!

Rather than wait for Ren’s romantic approach, Mitt’s hands quickly grabbed the deep neck of his tunic and pulled him the few remaining inches forward. Mitt felt the gasp against his lips, and the meeting of their mouths was free of grace. Barely a moment later, Ren’s arms were firmly wrapped around him, and he couldn’t stop the sigh of released tension from leaving him as their mouths moved desperately against each other. 

Mitt felt like he was regaining control of himself, as if he were taking back something that had been someone else's for too long. The fists in Ren’s shirt tightened and tugged, drawing him further into the kiss and bowing his back. Ren answered his eagerness with fervour, hand grabbing at the fine jacket and bunching it up at the small of his back. 

With a gasp, Ren pulled back, leaving Mitt breathless and hopelessly entrapped within the cage of his arms. His eyes were closed, his hair brushing his cheeks as he shook his head.

“No, no, you don’t need to remember this.”

Mitt’s hands pawed at his face, adrenaline running hard through his veins as his fingers cupped Ren’s shaking jaw. 

“Yes I do. I want to remember all of it, and you can’t stop me from trying, Ren.” His voice was quiet, and more desperate than he’d wanted to sound. 

Ren’s eyes opened as his hands let go of Mitt’s jacket and gripped his arms instead, giving himself enough space to look at the man he’d been missing for so long.

“I can’t...I can’t go through losing you again. You’ll decide you’re better off without this place once you see how ugly it is with fresh eyes. How ugly I am.”

The way Ren’s hands clutched at his arms, and how intense his gaze became, all contributed to how much his words crushed Mitt’s heart. He had no way of knowing if Ren meant physically or personally, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to prove Ren wrong.

“You have no idea how lost I felt, flying through the outer rim, wondering if there was anyone out there looking for me. I _ tried _ to feel right, but it never worked. Being here, talking to you, it all gives me answers I couldn’t find anywhere else. So please,” Mitt paused, his thumbs rubbing gently against Ren’s high cheekbones, “stop pushing me away.” 

Ren’s eyes closed, pinching with the pressure of barely withheld emotion.

“But what if you don’t like the answers? What if you remember the way we fought before we loved each other, and nothing else? What if you _ remember _ that love, but don’t feel it again? What if you do, and you throw yourself in front of an assassin for me one day?”

It was clear that Ren had spent their time apart running through every possible reason this couldn’t work, and admittedly, Mitt felt ill equipped to console him confidently. Silently, with his expression plagued by concern and uncertainty, he pulled Ren into an embrace. The pitch coloured hair tickled his neck, as he recalled it once doing, while Ren’s arms tightly wound themselves around him. With Ren’s face against his shoulder, Mitt’s hand combed through the dark waves, trying to soothe him as best he could. A little huff of somber amusement came from the man in his arms.

“You were never much of a hugger.”

Mitt couldn’t help but give his own little chuckle.

“Consider it an improvement then.”

They stood there quietly for a few minutes, holding each other in a way that had a woman turning around once she’d noticed them on the balcony. Mitt appreciated the respect as he finally sighed and laid his cheek against Ren’s hair.

“Ren, I can’t promise I’ll be just like him, or that everything will go back to the way it was, but I want this new life to have you in it.”

Ren took a moment, then finally uncurled from his position against Mitt’s shoulder. His eyelids were heavy, his lips soft, and his arms still tight. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” It sounded scared, but also open, and Mitt nodded in answer. 

“I know, I have a lot to learn about myself too, but I want your help with both.” His gaze held firmly against Ren’s, a determination in it that he hoped would encourage Ren to finally let him in. He watched the tight lines of Ren’s face slowly relax, and a shaky breath leave his broad chest.

“Alright.” Ren whispered, making Mitt’s heart swell with warmth and excitement. 

After all his time wondering about how this would all end, if he would ever find the place he belonged, Ren was finally giving him the chance to find it, here, with him.

Mitt didn’t even realize he was smiling until Ren’s fingers were touching his lips, his body drawing closer. Mitt’s heart was still pounding, and he suspected it wouldn’t be stopping any time soon as Ren asked him a simple question in that rich satin voice:

“Can I kiss you again?”

Mitt’s smile only grew.

“Yes.”

***

**EPILOGUE**

“Was that _ really _ necessary?” Mitt griped.

“Sadly, Chandrillan tradition calls for it.” Ren’s arms looked entirely too good in their bare state, folded across the straining fabric of his high collard vest. He was grinning, and perfectly poised against the trim of the balcony door.

Mitt, on the other hand, felt like some kind of parading fowl in the get up QE-3 had put him in, and was eagerly trying to maneuver out of it. 

“I should have run off with Samir when I had the chance.” He muttered, none too quietly, as he plucked at the buttons of the emerald emblazoned blazer. 

Ren chuckled and took pity on him, crossing the silver laden room and assisting in the undoing of buttons. 

“She isn’t the right hand of the Senator, _ you, _ however, have appearances to keep up.”

Mitt huffed irritably, his arms dropping to his sides like a frustrated child giving up on tying their shoes.

“Bloody appearances…” He mumbled, eyes cast towards the ceiling as Ren finished unclasping his silly shirt. 

It was quiet for a moment, as Ren’s hands decided to wander, rather than abandon Mitt’s form at the completion of their task. Around his waist they went, until Mitt was pulled firmly against the taut form of his now not-so-secret lover. His blue-grey eyes stayed sky bound as he cheekily ignored the increasingly hungry look on Ren’s face, and the subsequent growl meant to grab his attention.

“You know, I remembered something new this morning.” Mitt’s hands laid themselves over Ren’s arms, traveling slowly to his shoulders, “You were perfectly naked, and seated on that ice blue couch over there.”

His eyes finally met Ren’s, and the mischievous gleam in his own found itself perfectly mirrored.

“And what about you?”

Mitt grinned, a finger coming forward to press against Ren’s lips as he brought his own closer.

“I don’t quite remember. Maybe you could help me fill in the blanks?” He whispered, a wonderfully tempting tint to his words.

Ren’s answering grin made Mitt’s heart soar with the excitement of it all. 

As he was taken to the couch, and the excessive layers of his gaudy clothing were shed by Ren’s hands, he was warmed by a happy thought. After everything that had happened, whether fate or luck, the galaxy had given him his perfect fit.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've had a good time with this one, and please make sure to leave a kudo and comment if you did!
> 
> You can find the artist at https://kylodarknessdementiaravenren.tumblr.com/ and myself @Arden_Hux on twitter. :)


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